


Creation Therapy

by tsukinofaerii



Category: Marvel 1610 - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-23
Updated: 2010-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:32:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinofaerii/pseuds/tsukinofaerii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's therapist suggested a creative outlet might do him well. He never thought his RPS would one day come true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creation Therapy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valtyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valtyr/gifts).



_Tony arched back against the brick wall, breath coming in desperate little pants as Steve's calloused hand slid over his hip. "Steve," he breathed, stomach fluttering with anxiety, "I never..."—_

Tony paused, fingers hovering over his keyboard. Never _what_? It's a good start, but he needs something to have _never_. Never had sex? Sex with a man? Been bent over in an alley? How inexperienced was his fictional self? If he left it too vague, he _knew_ someone on the cap_ironman community would make assumptions, and then he'd have to write a prequel.

Bother and damnation.

Someone coughed from the doorway. Tony glanced up, frowning at the breach in his creative process. It vanished promptly when he saw his doorway filled with blue leather and muscles. "Well, speak of the de'il himself. What can I do for you, Steve?"

Steve's eyes flicked to Tony's hands, which were still poised to type, then back up at his face. "Am I interrupting? You look like you're writing something."

"Just a bit of creation therapy." Alt+F, S, Enter, Alt+F, X Done. "It's nothing you're not welcome to intrude upon. Please, come in."

"A story?" Steve sauntered in, and there was really no other word for the lazy, determined swing of his stride. Tony's mouth went dry, and he suddenly found himself wishing he'd left the document open. _Saunter_ was a good word. "I didn't know you were the type."

Something about that phrase niggled Tony's memory. He laced his fingers into a hammock and rested his chin on them. "I'm many things. I thought you knew that."

"This, Tony?" Rather than stop on the other side of the desk as any decent person would, Steve continued around. Tony swiveled in his chair to follow the movement, but he needn't have troubled himself. Steve only ended up sitting on the desktop in a way that was specifically out of one story and a hundred fantasies. "Mister Chastity has this sort of thing in his drawer?"

_Steve reached into Tony's desk, lifting up the tiny tube of lubricant that he kept there. He dangled it in the air by the cap, making it dance. Red flooded Tony's cheeks as he was confronted with the evidence._

Red _did_ flood Tony's cheeks as Steve opened the drawer in question, but it was far from embarrassment.

He'd written this. More importantly, Steve had _read_ this, every last dirty detail, and there'd been quite a few dirty details. The wheels on his chair squeaked as Tony slid back from the desk a foot, and Steve obligingly took the place fictional-Steve had, spread-legged, with a booted foot on either side of Tony's legs.

Tony licked his lips and looked with as much innocence as he could muster, trying to remember his line. "I didn't put that there."

Leather scraped over plastic as Steve used his legs to roll Tony back towards the desk. Even through the leather of the Captain America uniform, he could feel the heat coming off Steve. How could he have not noticed that detail before? It needed a story all its own.

But then all thought of writing flew away on dark wings when Steve leaned forward and smirked, and _damn_ if this wasn't Tony's favorite part outside of the sex. "No, you didn't. I did."


End file.
